Cloning my Service Elephant

I've mentioned the Ring doorbell cameras.
So has Amazon: to the police. They gave the police a 'heatmap' of all devices in an area. While the feature was removed, you can be sure that Amazon would never do it again, nor would police expect them to.



You know how some kids were always the last to be chosen in sports? I was that kid.  No, wait, I was next to last. The fat kid was last. The joke was on them because the fat kid knew way more about sports than I did. That was probably a consequence of growing up without a father. I can't blame my mom for not teaching me about sports (even though she still knows more than me to this day).

I played with the neighborhood kids. They gave me the basic idea and I played along. It was fun - we were little kids, we had a huge drive, and it was very hard concrete. My philosophy on sports (philosophy???) is all applied to the one sport I almost liked; bowling. We can face the fact that nobody, except maybe Einstein and famous supercomputers can score, but bowling was good for me: pick up the heaviest round thing* you could find, and throw it as hard as you can toward the white things. You had to knock down as many as possible. I applied this to baseball, tennis, football, and whatever else we played on the concrete. Because I had no fear, public school gym class was.... interesting. I led a strange tribe, called lefty's Lunatics, who jumped over various pieces of equipment, then (here is the important part) landed on their heads. This explains an awful lot, no?

* you have to find a left-handed ball. You think I'm making this up? Nope - it has to be drilled so the left hand can pick it up.

One day the local kids got skates. This was a little foreign to me, plus I didn't have any, so I'd watch. One day I got skates. Needless to say, I wasn't very good at them, probably because I couldn't apply my bowling philosophy to them. It was all I could do to stand. So there I am, in my non-moving state, and I notice the neighborhood smartass coming in my direction, on his skates. So this is the second time I've been on skates and I didn't have the chops to move out of his way. This little bastard was a few years younger, but everyone knew they were going to find dead animals buried in his yard, after they finally pinned the mass murder charges on him.

Think quick, lefty!
I stood there, arm extended, fist closed.
And the little bastard literally punched himself in the nose with my fist.
He went crying to his mommy that I punched him. Can you see me, barely standing there, trying to explain to Mother Mary that The Anointed One ran into ME? This was a good lesson, although I didn't know it at the time. There's always one asshole, who turns out to have a tiny penis and takes it out on the rest of humanity.

The moral of the story?
There is no moral of the story.
The moral is that if you don't like stories without morals, complain in the comments section.
If you like blogs without morals, bookmark this one.



A Dutch politician is facing 3 years in jail for hacking women's iCloud accounts and leaking nudes.   Sure, one politician who finally does something useful, and they want to jail him. We shall need to see the evidence.



I'm thinking of a new career..... . I want to be a Porn Critic. Just like those fancy d00ds and d00dettes in those New York fake news papers and magazines. Go ahead and review the latest Nora Ephron movie - I'll review Nora's Nasty Nuns (God Never Had This in Mind). One of the movies is demonstrably better than the other. I'll let you decide....

If I were one of those snotty reviewers, my entire job would involve writing two words: "Lacks plot."  Being a porn reviewer, who loves the milieu, I can say anything I want and mean it, without being snotty or holier-than-thou.

• While the anal scenes were spot-on, the fisting lacked realism. 
• When the 12 guys abused the hell out of that 5'2" girl, she kept crying, "More! More!" This is the kind of in-your-face moment that had me rewinding to see it again and again.
• No. I refuse. No clowns. A porn reviewer has to have his standards.
• This reviewer has never beheld a movie with such dedication and reverence for the form: of course I'm talking about Greta Does The World. It's the heartwarming story of an (of-age) girl, driving around the world, going around the world. Spreading her message of spreading in many countries. Becoming a world celebrity for f_ckng. It was 90 minutes of pure joy (and countless money shots). Of special mention was the scene where she tried to fsck the entire United States. People argued for and against her message, but her message of love got out, as did many other things. SEE THIS MOVIE.
• Quick review of Barbara's Bouncy Balloons: normally I enjoy any movie with semi-naked women sitting on huge balloons, bouncing, but this one just didn't... finish. The balloons were all wrong, and Barbara had the rhythm of a child with cerebral palsy and the verbal output of someone with Tourette's Syndrome. Avoid.
• Very few movies take women into mind, but here's one: A Hard Man (Is Good to Find). The men were all over 10" and the women vacillated between frightened and wide-eyed with naked lust. Ok, it lacked plot. Ok, it might have been unrealistic in spots. But foreplay went on for 43 minutes per scene. A must-see for women. Men should consider it a training film.

Our good friends over at DHS want facial recognition scans used on Americans, in addition to existing scans on everyone else.  Who could have seen that coming?



Remember?

• computer shows?
• on the steering column gearshifts?
• bright light switch on the floor, under the emergency brake?
• touch tone phones with no # or * key?

"This Entire Century Has Been An Unmitigated March In The Direction Of Stupidity"   @zerohedge

• 5 ways to protect your privacy on Chrome
• Like it or not (I don't), it's the most popular browser, whether by itself or built upon.

Just in case you need surgery, you should know that docs are now consulting YouTube for direction(s).  This means that if you're good at printing fake diplomas, you can be a surgeon too!

• I'm over the moon delighted that this blog has gotten past its 2-6 hits per day, so if I need to feel disappointed, I just check ThermionicMalware, which has 15 hits over its lifetime (ok 2 weeks, but still.....)

Hey, how about that opioid crisis?
Related article: Suicides associated with forced tapering of opiate pain treatments.

• Wife's new acquaintance called six times and texted four times last night.
• I have a strange feeling about this one... some sixth sense tells me it may not work out well.

How to keep a cat off a Christmas tree
Long time readers may remember Ren, our exceedingly intelligent FDU (Feline Destruction Unit). We got him when he was a few weeks old and he was a precocious little bugger. We only had one cat before (Fred) and he was pretty well-behaved, but died early. Ren grew up and grew and grew, to where he was almost as large and 10 pounds shy of Marshall, the wonder-cocker. Ren would torture Marshall, whose main wish was to be an only child. Ren would also hang from under Marshall, yet they'd sometimes nap together. For some reason, Ren was highly antagonized by the xmas tree. We had one that went up in stages.. maybe he wanted a real one, but he would get into it, push off some very expensive baubles, rewire the lights a bit, and eventually disembowel the tree. It became too much of a problem so I decided to meet him halfway: I took just the 12" top section of the tree and hung it from the ceiling, so he couldn't get it. He tried leaping but failed. We won!!!  Well, not really. By later that day, he figured out how to get it off of the ceiling. We lost. No more trees til he left us. Marshall left the trees alone, unless there was food under them.

• Best book title this week: Ask Me About My Uterus
• Best audio title: Bonny Tyler - the RCA Years    Huh? Was there more than one year?
• Best job title: Ethical Hacker.  Ethical?

Dammit, I hate to be serious, but here goes.

You sure picked a bad time to be Catholic.
If I were Catholic, I'd be out for blood (sorry). There's nothing wrong with the religion - it's the Upper Corporate Administration. Never mind all the secrecy, the trillions in goodies in vaults, and the politics.. they allow and turn a blind eye to pedophilia. This is not acceptable (notice my gentle phrasing, which you don't see often here). This 'secret' has been out in the open for God knows how many years, yet nothing is done.

Pope Francis has accepted the resignation of Buffalo bishop Richard Malone following reports that he kept a secret binder full of the names of accused priests in a closet in his office.

It's so far out in the open, it might as well be featured on a Kardashians show. This is enough proof for anyone, yet nothing will be done.
I'd like to suggest that Catholics, who are innocent of this, jettison the corporate structure. Find different places of worship. Let the collection plate go empty. Most importantly, call for a legal investigation into these evil practices. One child abused is one too many.

Isn't it time?



The good news: NASA satellite found India's Moon lander
The bad news: AAA does not send tow trucks to the Moon.




Heroes of the Stupid

L.A.'s Head of Homelessness resigned after a 33% increase in people sleeping on the streets.  They expected him to hit at least 50%.

Kamala Harris is out of the democratic race for president. If she continued, she'd have to spend her own money. I'm serious.



SJWery

One huge drawback of nuclear power is that it doesn't dismantle systems of oppression - it only produces clean energy.   Next up: how air is racist


I left Greta Thunberg alone. The situation needed to simmer a bit. And sure enough, it germinated and grew an SJW:

After all, the climate crisis is not just about the environment. It is a crisis of human rights, of justice, and of political will. Colonial, racist, and patriarchal systems of oppression have created and fueled it. We need to dismantle them all.


San Diego State University launched an online portal for reporting incidents that include "messages of bias."  They also launched a "free speech" website, where students can learn about their First Amendment rights.  Strangely, there are some clashes between the two.

Cocker Chemo Continues

Having finished his IV chemotherapy recently, Marshall just got put on oral chemotherapy. He's buzzing along, happy as always, except for the constant whining when he wants something. We figure that if he's driving us up a tree, he must be doing very well.

On the way home, I had the pleasure of playing tug of war with the little monster. There was coffee in the holder and he was thirsty. I've heard this described before but never saw it: he flipped the plastic top right off the Unbelievable Huge Size Dunkin Donuts styrofoam cup, as if it were nothing. So I put it back on. He flipped it off, with one motion. I put it back, and the moment my hand left, he was back at it again. There are specific laws here about driving with cell phones. There are no laws about driving while trying to protect your coffee from a cancerous cocker with a taste for Dunkin. As it would have been dangerous, I had no choice but to concentrate on driving (also prohibited in my state), and he went face-down into the coffee. When he eventually came up, he had a coffee mustache.

Not to worry, the coffee doesn't do anything to him in any way.  You'd think the caffeine would make a difference, but he just took his wet paws, jumped into bed with his mommy, and took a leisurely nap.

• I'm posting this informationally, as no one here uses the service. Apparently most of Tinder is not encrypted. This allows anyone on the same wifi network to monitor what you're doing. So don't use it in public or at home, where your spouse may be monitoring.
• This is great advice for any program: stay off public wifi. The fact that Tinder isn't encrypted (https:) makes it even worse.

After the mistaken missile alert in Hawaii, politicians scrambled to get the word out that the alert was false. One of the most important accounts sat there, silent, for 17 minutes before issuing the all clear. Yes, it was the governor's account. Why did it take 17 minutes for him to tweet? He didn't know his Twitter password.

C'mon - it's 2018. Stop being stupid. Take an interest in cyber security, including basic password hygiene.  When the governor's people see him practicing safe computing and keeping his password in a locked password manager, they're more likely to do the same. Security flows from the top.

• Bell Canada wants you to know that, aside from Customer Name, phone numbers, username, and account numbers, there are no worries for the 100,000 people whose information was breached recently. Also, there is no evidence that credit card or banking information has been accessed.
• Bell is doing its best, having not learned from last year's breach, affecting 1.9 million active email addresses and 1,700 names and phones numbers accessed by a hacker. They have also not learned from the time before that. Who regulates this stuff?
• If I were a Bell Canada customer, I'd demand all their corporate data before I gave them any of mine. Let's see whose information gets breached first, and what happens after that.

The NHS has approved patient data storage on cloud services.

What could possibly go wrong, England?

• ATTN: anybody lactating. I have nothing for you but always wanted to say that.
• Believe me, if you're lactating, Google knows, but doesn't include it in my stats.

Deep Thoughts - by lefty

I'm looking for it.

If I find it, I'll let you know.

Some say the process is more important than finding it.

Don't ask me.

• If you're a juror in the El Chapo trial, you can breathe a sigh of relief. Chapo, called El by friends, has promised not to kill any jurors. If he were to 'make them go away', then there would be an anonymous jury, which would poison a fair trial.
• Say what you want about the Drug Kingpin Maximus, he has a better grasp of justice than most Americans, especially the FBI/CIA/NSA.

The Kardashians, famous for reasons no one can discern, have nothing on the owner of the corporate juggernaut known as Grumpy Cat. Grumpy cat started as a meme on the internet, after which his owner trademarked and copyrighted the feline.

During a deal with 'Grenade', they were allowed to put out coffee called  “Grumpy Cat Grumppuccino.” Grenade used the cat's likeness on the coffee and t-shirts, which was not part of the deal. After three years in court, the cat or the corporation or the owner was awarded $710,001. My guess is that the lawyers got the bulk of the money, the owner got the rest, and Grumpy got some cat treats. This is why there are laws about child stars in Hollywood.

I weep for society.

• FREE RON JEREMY!

• The porn legend was banned from the Las Vegas Adult Video News (AVN) awards for violating AVN's code of conduct. AVN has a Zero Tolerance Harassment Policy. This is the first time in 38 years Ron hasn't attended the awards.
• Other pundits will say, "Porn. A code of conduct for porn?" 
• I will not stoop to that level.  
• Anyone who has heard of or seen pictures from the AVN awards knows that there can't possibly be a code of anything at this wingding. The only thing that isn't tolerated is premeditated murder (and that's probably negotiable).
• Aside from the obvious reasons, I'd have no problem attending or watching the awards, especially versus the Emmys or Golden Globes, etc.  When an actress wins the award for Best Underwater Blowjob, Clothed, she screams, holds her hands to her face, walks to the podium and makes her acceptance speech. At no time does she call attention to her pet cause, verbally assault a sitting president, or demand better working conditions.
• These are honest, hard-working people, in touch with the average Joe. When she's done, she goes back to her table, does the Porn Star Dance with a few of her coworkers, and watches the next award: Best triple-insertion gangbang with under 500 participants (and a donkey).
• Meanwhile, Meryl Streep hasn't yet reached the middle of her monologue.

It was only a matter of time...

Two white ex-employees are suing NBC and Questlove for racial discrimination. Their treatment was completely different from Questlove's black bassist. Quest allegedly pressured NBC to fire the caucasians involved in the incident, but ignore his bassist.

----------------------

Regardless of anything that happened outside of comedy, Woody Allen is pretty damn funny. His essay on civil disobedience is hysterical. The most relevant part is this:

It should be noted that after a revolution is over, the ‘oppressed’ frequently take over and being acting like the ‘oppressors.’ 

------------------

Apparently black superheroes are a thing, according to an interview I heard on NPR. I listen to NPR for many good reasons: rock radio sucks, my cd player just broke, and there is no aux input on my radio. After today, I might investigate Silence while driving, and just let the internal demons provide the soundtrack.

They were interviewing the creator of a black superhero show that's pretty popular. I apologize for not remembering the show or the fellow's name. The interviewer asked if a white guy could accurately write a black character. He said no and mentioned that diversity is strength; his staff is mostly female African-American. So no white guys? Yes, there are white guys all over the place - they're the ones who have been writing forever.

So diversity is strength, provided it doesn't include white people. And mostly African-American female is a perfectly diverse, acceptable makeup of employees.

The oppressed frequently take over and begin acting like the oppressors.

Wouldn't it be ironic if the National Association for the Advancement of White People (NOPE) marched on the creator's business and blocked the doors, claiming racism and ordering the government to force them to accept caucasians on the payroll?

Next on the radio was the panel of experts to explain why Trump is wrong this time. One started by saying The Wall is racist. Nobody had the intestinal fortitude to ask how.

Last but definitely not least was the interview with a lady whose group advocates for the rights of home healthcare workers. For some reason, these folks are excluded from laws mandating minimum wage, time off, and other benefits. Sounds reasonable, right? Then she went on to say that everyone should also support the illegal alien workers because they're entitled to the same benefits.

Huh?

They broke the law by sneaking into the country. They're working, possibly under the table. And they're entitled to benefits that legal citizen workers have?

My wife likes to contribute to our local public radio station. We agreed that this practice would cease as of today.

We are going to look back on this time and wonder what we were thinking (if anything). Better yet, let's not look back... it's too embarrassing.



lefty the libertarian says that after pointing out hypocrisy, he'd like everybody to know that employers should hire whomever they like, without government interference (even though it doesn't work that way now). People have freedom of speech and can say whatever they want on radio and in person. We don't have to agree with it and we can spend our dollars elsewhere. This is referred to as letting the market decide.

• The blog entries may show up less frequently. I'm working on a new project.. The Tide Pod Cookbook.

Just in case you are bored and starved for some good news, for once... comes word that the ability to fake nude pictures and videos has come down to user level. In fact, even your face can star in someone's adult creation. Some may refer to this as a great programming leap. Some will shriek and run. And Jessica Alba already has 'porn' out, with her head on a porn star's body. I'll be searching that out later today, you know... for science. I'm just passing this stuff along. Because, like Howard Stern, I have the maturity of a thirteen year old.

Moe the Golden Retriever helps rescue a man from the Sacramento river.

• California, bastion of sanity, is adding another notch to its belt buckle: it may soon be illegal to automatically provide straws in restaurants. Yes, servers must wait until straws are requested by the customer. There is a significant fine for disobeying.
• The National Straw Marketing Association has stated that this is not an issue, so long as straws are available. You might think I made this part up, but I didn't, except for the name of the association.
• Don't get me wrong.. California is a wonderful place to visit; you just couldn't pay me to live there.
• Speaking of regulations, Chicago has just made it illegal to park your car with a For Sale sign in it on public streets. They suggest you call 911 if you see one of these cars. 
• ThermionicEmissions has done some bold, intensive investigation on this issue (we asked a Chicago official about it). Chicago is worried about cars being parked on the streets and becoming almost abandoned. Sounds reasonable, addresses a nuisance, and is nowhere as weird as California's obsession with straws. If straws were illegal aliens, California would mandate a straw dispenser on every table and have them attached to all telephone poles, not to mention cases of them at City Hall.

I watch a lot of people typing on their cell phones, with the precision of a brain surgeon and the speed of a NASCAR driver, so I know it is possible. But when I pick it up, I feel like a two year old with a computer. I have been a tech since I was two, taking apart vacuums at people's houses. Small wonder I don't get invited places. I obviously know how the phone works and can make it do all sorts of things, but the act of typing causes me fits. Even slowly and carefully, I will invariably hit the wrong key. I've tried hitting the top of the key and that doesn't work. I have tried three different keyboards, which hasn't helped. What's unbelievably weird and horrible is that my work iPhone's keyboard seems to work much better (I stand ashamed). So I installed an iDevice-like keyboard, which also failed spectacularly. I even tried the Swipey keyboard, which works for millions. That produced its own set of hilarious errors, including wanting to do bodily harm to the person who set spellcheck to ON by default. Even when I tap a suggested correction, I hit a number key instead.

So I'm at very least a dyslexic typist. A slow typist. A great speller but a blithering failure in the typing department. My wife feels similarly, so at least we can share the misery. Every time I type, I want to launch the phone into space. I'd use the voice interface, but on every voice interface, everything you say goes right to the service's servers; android/Google, or Apple. I'm waiting for the phones to be powerful enough to have their own voice capabilities natively. There's little push for this, as Google and Apple want your data.

I don't need to type NASCAR fast. I'd settle for average and accurate.

So I scream a lot while typing. And fixing computers. And watching tv. Now that I think of it, this is a recurring theme. I should hurry up and do nothing about this.

• The good news is that my local supermarket has Chocolate Frosted Flakes now, labeling them New. The bad news is that they don't carry them in Extra Huge Size, like Costco did before they stopped carrying them. I think Chocolate Frosted Flakes with Marshmallows got discontinued too. The trials and tribulations of an adult who consumes sugary cereals. But beware: I heard that even Raisin Bran has a lot of sugar on the flakes.
• To everyone's surprise, there is now a Chocolate Lucky Charms.
• You would do well to avoid anything that says Kashi on it, unless you're enamored of the taste of cardboard. At that point, you might as well just eat the container it comes in. It too is full of fiber.

Parting shot: I enjoy the hell out of the opportunity to spew my stuff here. It would be nice, however, if the spell check didn't choke on the word 'internet'.  I routinely play a game called Choke the Checker.

Yep, that thing's gonna ricochet and take his eye out

How Are Things in Cockerspanistan?

Marshall is a rescue cocker. For the life of us, we couldn't figure out how anybody could 'throw him away'. While physically removing him from the cat food for the third time in a day, it finally hit me: he's too damn smart. He was obviously way too smart for his previous owner. Since I don't define my intelligence (or manhood) by my dog's IQ, it doesn't bother me nearly as much. This is a good thing, as the cat is even smarter.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

When I come home from work, Marshall wags his stub a bit and leaps on the sofa next to me (assuming he's not already on the sofa). He leans against me, sitting up like a human, with his paws on my leg. Then we sniff each others' nostrils. It wasn't always this way - he used to sniff my nostrils exclusively but after a while, I started sniffing his nostrils, to keep things even and see what he would do.

He sits there while I rub his belly or his flaps. If I stop too quickly, he sticks his nose under my arm, the universal signal for PAY ATTENTION TO ME (the cat does it too). I comply immediately. This goes on for up to ten minutes.

When I get in bed and get settled, Marshall comes up and positions himself up against me, paws on my right shoulder. I get to scratch his flaps again. He makes hysterical growling noises and twirls, then nudges me for more. This can go on for a while too.

I put up a mock struggle but these are some of the best times of my day.

Good Thing I Have a Job

I'm going to try something new today. You know how they say you should never go food shopping when you're hungry?  'They' also say you should never blog when pissed.  Well here I goooooooooo......

I have to tell you, I have absolutely NO IDEA how you single people get stuff done. We have a very equitable distribution of duties at our house but with my wife taking the week off 'elsewhere', I am the lone biped.  As such, I am in charge of the house and the two quadrupeds. Let me describe my day...

YESTERDAY:

Off to work by eight.
Off to home at four.
Stop by credit union to deposit last week's paycheck.
Credit union, which my wife told me closes at six, closes at four thirty. I got there at four thirty five. Mind you, this is the mortgage payment.
Spitting blood, I go home.

Once home, I am greeted by all sorts of Cat Detritus. For reasons known only to Beelzebub, the cat has taken to peeing on puppy pads. Then he wraps them up around a small rug in a knot and I get to untangle them and deposit them in the trash, replacing with a new one for him to foul.  Later, while cleaning the cat box, I find a pair of gloves. I have no idea why.

The dog is so happy to see me, he runs to the door because he wants to go out. But of course he wants to go out - he's been in the house all day, you are thinking. It's no big emergency as he has already shit on the kitchen floor. While carrying it to the toilet, some leaps out onto the floor.

"This isn't turning out well," I say to myself; in quite different words, at a ridiculously high volume.

Dog comes in and runs to the cat bowl, to lick out every last quantum molecule of cat food. The cat, meanwhile, is eating the dog's food. Funny as Cat Foot Ballet is, the cat shouldn't be eating the dog's food because he's f-ing diabetic. So I tell him to get out of the dog food. Absolutely no effect. GET OUT OF THE DOG FOOD. He doesn't even twitch. GET OUT OF THE F-ING DOG FOOD OR I WILL KILL YOU, combined with rapid motion toward the dog food bowl does the trick.

Speaking of diabetes, the cat needs shots twice a day. This is something I cannot do so a very kind niece helps (although she didn't help last night). When he misses shots, the peeing all over the house starts.

Undaunted, the cat jumps up on the couch next to me and starts pawing and pricking me, wanting attention. This cat is obviously lacking in empathy. At this point, I'd rather play Feline Aviation than pet him.  I gently pick him up and move him to the other side of the couch. Undaunted a second time, he immediately comes back, purring as loudly as he can, trying to get up my butt.  I move him again. He comes back again. I move him a third time and he comes most of the way back, sneaking over half an inch or less, til he can touch me. And purr loudly. So loudly I can't concentrate (ok, let's face it, I can't concentrate too well to begin with).  The dog, with his best I wasn't doing anything Dad look, leaps up on the couch and does not purr.

An hour later, I'm off to the Happy Place<tm>, for our single hour visit.
Then home to cook, straighten, and yell some more.

TODAY:

I lefty work early to make sure I could get to the credit union before closing. In spite of the fact that no one stops for stop signs, I made it(!).  I deposited my check, which my wife told me goes in as cash, and the teller tellers me that it will take two days to clear.  I asked why paychecks didn't go in as cash. She looked confused for a bit then asked me where the check tearoff was. Out in the car, of course. So I ran to the car (it's snowing at this point), only to find it's back at home, where I left it. Back to the counter, it goes in as a check, to clear in two days.  Have I mentioned this is my mortgage payment? Spitting bullets AND blood, I go home.

I'm surprised they didn't call the police at that point.  When I hit the parking lot, I gave the entire neighborhood a lesson in Screamonics. I continued all the way home, questioning the credit union's parentage and noting that the check will clear for them immediately but I have to wait two days. This is why I stopped going to banks.

When I get home, I am greeted by all sorts of Cat Detritus. There is a puppy pad, wrapped around a small rug. And in the cat box is the pair of gloves. I continue to have no idea why.  Does he wipe with them? Do they make him feel more comfortable while he's excreting?

The dog then runs to the door again. And once again, he has shit on the floor. This is the weirdest deja vu I have ever had.

Then the cat jumps up on the sofa, purring, and tries to physically attach himself to me. This horrid rerun is brought to you by the Philly Credit Union, where no cats are ever hurt via banking. The dog is smart enough to make himself scarce when I go off. The cat, not so much.

LAST NIGHT:

Things are lovely at the Happy Place<tm>.  Walking in the door was not a smart idea in the first place, considering my mood. Where is my wife's hoagie from the previous day? Some idiot threw it out (probably after eating it). Why is my wife tired? Her first roommate spent her entire time coughing up a lung. When she left, they moved the Sandwich Stealer in, whose other hobby is snoring. Loudly and constantly. They had to give out earplugs (I am not kidding). Later that night, the idiot threw out someone else's sandwich.

Where is the staff?  I sure see them a lot. They suggest to keep sandwiches in their fridge. Do they discipline the Sandwich Stealer? No.  When Nina Jesus'd everyone to death and threw liquid at someone, did they move her? No.  Pardon my math and lack of psychological experience but why are the malcontents allowed to destabilize the entire unit? Where is the accountability? Over with Obama's accountability. I informed my wife that sometimes people trip. Perhaps the Sandwich Stealer tripped and hit her head on the wall three or four times. These things happen.

So here I am, ready to go visit for that generous hour and I'm in quite a Mood. Worse than yesterday. I sure hope they don't keep me.

Then it's shopping and dinner and lunch for tomorrow.  Only three more days of this heaven.

You betcha I'm pissed.


P.S. And just as I'm finishing this up, the f-ing BROWSER CRASHES. I am being pushed too far.

EDIT:  I found out some High Mucketymuck at the hospital came down personally to badger and intimidate my wife for copays. Someone will answer for this.

The Unemployment Follies - Final: The Pets' Lament

Thanks for hanging in there with Thermionic Emissions through this most interesting time (all three of you).

As you might have noticed, this is the final installment of The Unemployment Follies.  This can mean a number of things: 1. I'm going to shoot myself (or someone else), 2. I somehow managed to become employed.  As amusing an idea of shooting would be, I'm going to have to go with number two; I somehow managed to become employed.

This blog is nothing if not logical.  Now follow this logic: as we know, I'm am information security guy. And as we've all read, there are tons of hacking incidents happening all over the place, each worse than the previous one. Therefore, there is a huge demand for security people, so I should get a job very quickly.  While this blog is logical, little outside of it is, thus the five month desperate search for a new position.

My wife is very supportive. She's been dealing with everything well but for some reason lately she's been reminding me (constantly) that I only have one month of unemployment compensation left. It's not that I didn't appreciate the rather frequent, panic-filled reminders, but I was somewhat well-acquainted with the impending date. No pressure, of course. Mowing lawns and McDonalds were starting to look good. And you know about my almost paralyzing fear of mowing. Not to mention my almost paralyzing fear of eating anything from McDonalds.

I started looking outside my specialty. Interviews started picking up. I spent hours each day looking for a job. My in-laws were holding prayer vigils outside the house at night, complete with candles that kept me up until daylight. The neighbor's children added me to their school's prayer list. Two people read my tarot cards and put me in a job before the end of the year. A friend said I was working way too hard and to simply ask for a new job within forty-eight hours, also writing it down on a piece of paper.

One, some, or all of the above held a conference, wherever these types of conferences are held and laid one on me. Within a few hours, someone called about a job. Within a week, I was provisionally hired. When I say provisionally, I mean that they have to do a little snooping around in my past. You're thinking that I'll be back on the unemployment rolls again, aren't you? I wish them luck - since I can't remember a bunch of it, perhaps they'll have better luck (and tell me a little about it). Hopefully neither of us will discover what I did with the bodies.


ADJUSTMENTS

There will have to be many adjustments made after me being home for such a long time. The ones affected most would be the poor pets.  Not that we weren't bonded well before this but now I have two quadrupeds almost physically attached to me all day.  Since I'm not exactly an athletic guy, this means there are two pets fighting for lap and sofa space all day. If one lays against my leg, the other one hops up on my lap. This is less than optimal, as there's usually a laptop there. The damn dog can do things I can't do on my laptop, with just one paw. I suspect my wife will have to take them through some sort of Pet De-Attachment Program. They won't know what to do without Daddy sitting around the house all day.

Inter-species same sex sibling relationships are the best.

The humans will have to make adjustments too, like having electricity and heat. Ok, more like having better chocolate and paying bills. I have a genuine fondness for paying bills. Well, maybe not a genuine fondness and maybe the wife pays the bills, but you get where I'm going with this.

Speaking of the little four-legged darlings, the cat has taken to peeing on a mat by the kitchen sink. Even after I've just gotten up, the mat does not resemble his litter box in any way, shape, or form. Now picture my sheer delight when washing the dishes, to discover I'm standing on a mat made wet by cat urine. Serves me right for not wearing shoes when I wash dishes. Or for having a lovely little furball who decided not to use his litter box that particular time.

The dog, not to be left out, has decided I take too much time to let him in from outside. Today I had to apologize for him having to bark twice before I let him in. I looked at the cat and asked him why he couldn't let his brother in - after all, he's a very bright cat. Of course he's bright... he gets ME to open the door.

THE BIG EVENT

Once in every decade or two comes an event so spectacular as to defy belief.  Yes, we started cleaning the house. Marshall was especially grateful for us removing all of the clutter that had deposited itself on the dining room chairs. This allowed him to use a chair as a step stool, gaining access to the table itself, whereupon he proceeded to eat the remaining half of a fresh cherry cheesecake. Let this serve as a lesson to each and every one of you: DO NOT CLEAN. EVER.


STARBUCKS

Most of you know Starbucks as a place to get overpriced, over-roasted coffee with a whole lotta smug appeal. Did you know it's also a great place for a sociology lesson?  Someone asked me to meet him there last week, in spite of my begging and pleading to go anywhere else, even Denny's.  While I waited in the parking lot, I observed the following:

• Some genius in an SUV pulls up to the NO PARKING HERE sign and parks (with a half-full parking lot).
• A BMW driver getting into his car with his double espresso half latte nonfat cream. He closes the door then opens it again and proceeds to pour out his old coffee onto the parking lot.
• A sixty-something with dyed black hair and boots so high she couldn't walk in them, attempting to navigate the lot and somehow open the door.
• Two more people spilling old coffee onto the lot.
• Several other people randomly inventing their own parking spaces, again with a half-full lot.

WESTERN UNION - WORSE THAN DENTISTRY

Speaking of paying bills, it became important to pay one bill immediately, as in now; and when I say now, I mean yesterday. I was advised to use Western Union, Moneygram or Wells Fargo. So I went online and did the transaction with Western Union. A day later, I realized that Western Union had not only not bothered to complete the transaction, they hadn't bothered to let me know they didn't complete the transaction.

So I called Western Union. Apparently the transfer was on hold. Apparently notifying me was on hold too. The nice non-English as a first language speaking fellow told me that it could not be completed. So I asked him why and he didn't know. Then he told me I could go into any Western Union office. I informed him that if I wanted to go into an office, I wouldn't have called him in the first place. He suggested I try online. I already tried online, using two operating systems and four browsers. Online help told me that people were having trouble online and to use the phone. Are you following me still?

He promises me a coupon. I don't want a coupon, I want him to put the damn transaction through. It was like the Cheese Shop sketch:

You are Western Union, right?

Yes, sir.

You send money, correct?

Yes, sir.

You have been around since long before I was born?

Yes, sir.

Are you telling me you can send money for everyone but me?

Well... let me check.  Ok, I checked and we can perform the transaction again. All I need is all of your information over again. And we're processing. And it has rejected again.

What has rejected - Western Union or the bank?

Western Union.

So you're telling me that Western Union cannot send money.

I didn't say that.

But you can't send my money.

You can try again but not for twenty four hours when our computers reset.

CLICK.

So I tried Moneygram online.  Oops, they don't have the correct receiver number - have to go to one of their locations. At their location I set up the payment, got my transaction number, went to the counter and POOF - they couldn't take credit cards for wire transfer.

My friend looked at me in wild-eyed wonder.

This morning I decided to go straight to Wells Fargo bank, as the money was being transferred to Wells Fargo anyway.  I called to make sure this was ok and off I went. After giving them cash, they took the opportunity to mention that the payment wouldn't post for up to three days. At this point my eyes were rolling like a slot machine. My ears were buzzing and the voices in my head were telling me to do things that were quite illegal, immoral and generally Not Nice.

The bank's staff were incredibly helpful and set out to find out how to let another division of Wells Fargo know that this division of Wells Fargo got a payment for them.  After another thirty minutes, we all discovered, to our shock and surprise, that it was faster to use Western Union or Moneygram than their own branch.

Since I will pull all of my own body hair out, one by one, before I visit Western Union, I opted for Moneygram. Within three minutes, the money had transferred. Two entire days to pay a bill by wire transfer. My brain hurts and there are still pieces of my cranium on the ceiling at Wells Fargo.

I'd like to close this merry missive with the words of the latest email I received:

Love the Monkees? Don't miss this!!!  

When I opened the email, it was an ad for an Aretha Franklin concert.

Where's the Other Half of my Dog?

It was getting to be time. In fact, it was past time. Marshall the Cocker went out for Halloween as JK Rowling's Hairy Cocker.  When you're unemployed, you have to cut things back; things like expensive groomers.

Speaking of Indians, why is it that certain groups grivitate toward certain occupations?  Both recent groomers have been gay Mexicans. No thank you, I don't want his nails painted (I am not making this up).  And all of the dentists in my neighborhood are Indian. And the PITA job recruiters are Indian.

My best job offer ever came in this week: would I like a three month contract in Montreal, Canada? Ummm.. no. I've had some real doozies, but Montreal?  At least stay in the same country, guy. Plus, as we all know, it's not polite to speak French in public, making this offer impolite and rude.

But enough about that topic. Whenever I say job, an angel gets shot out of the sky. Have you ever tried to get blood out of white wings? It's not happening, people.

So Marshall gets back from the groomer, half the dog he used to be. To be honest, he looks silly. And as if that weren't enough, they put a bandana around his neck.  Talk about rude!  My dog needs a bandana like the president needs a dunce cap.  No, wait a minute.. my dog needs a bandana like any dog needs a bandana. I've killed people for less. What's next - a bee costume?

Mind you, my wife thinks he looks cute. My wife also thinks I look cute: there's no acounting for taste.

Cat Food Ballet has gotten even worse at my house.  I think I've figured this out... the cat gets his food behind a door so Marshall doesn't nudge him out of the way and eat all of it himself. Poor Marshall has to stand on the other side of the door, waiting for the Cat Food Gods to open the door so he can lick out the bowl. Sometimes he sits there for ten minutes, cleaning the cat food bowl of every microscopic bit of its former contents.  It turns out that the cat purposely leaves some of his food in the bowl for the dog. We know he was raised with dogs but that doesn't even go halfway towards explaining this behavior. One day my wife watched the cat push a pizza box off the table so both of them could eat it. Everybody loves pizza in this house. So the cat and dog are co-conspirators: the old swatting and barking bit is just for show.

The cat is slowly training the wife and it's not pretty to watch.  Having his claws makes our life a bit more complicated, as he won't play with a cat toy, he prefers to use furniture. My wife used to let him outside when he started this and after a few days, he had her trained to let him out with a scratch. He also trained her to feed him on command. Whenever she goes into the kitchen, he races in there and sits by his bowl. If that doesn't produce food, he head-butts her leg and annoys the crap out of her until she produces the food.  Then, of course, he eats a bit and opens the door for the dog to come in and finish it. Sometimes he walks to the dog bowl and eats some of that, making the circle complete.


MAIL AND STUFF


Relatives are out of town for an event. My job has been to pick up mail and manage trash cans. Unfortunately I've proven pretty good at managing trash cans but I am terribly afraid to look for a job managing them. Plus I never wanted to be in management.  Unfortunately this golden effort has been sabotaged by the real trash guys, who failed to empty one can.  How am I going to tell my family, including She Who Must be Obeyed, that there was a Trash Can Emergency on my watch? It reflects very poorly upon me. What if they go away again and won't let me manage the cans? What about the mail - will I still be allowed to pick it up?

On the way to pick up the mail today, I asked Marshall if perhaps there were anybody who wanted to take a ride, perhaps in the car... he looked at me wide-eyed and ran halfway up the steps. No one knows why. So I asked him again and he got all excited, almost hovering above the step but still not coming off the step. Finally he moved when I picked up his leash.  It's almost as if he's very hopeful but not entirely certain so he wants to be asked a second time.  If my wife's napping and I have to go into the room, he follows and jumps onto the bad, making himself comfortable, usually on my pillow. When I leave, I tell him to follow me. He just sits there. So I have to close the door, at which point he leaps off the bed and I re-open the door so he'll come out. It's like COPS, when the police have to tell everybody twice to PUT YOUR HANDS UP.

After picking up the mail, I put on my seatbelt and took off. Definition of seatbelt: the thing that holds your dead body in the car after a crash. In PA, there is no motorcycle helmet law but there is a seatbelt law. Anyway, it's mighty uncomfortable in the car, largely because there's a leash there. On closer examination it appears that I somehow managed to put the seatbelt on through the leash. I couldn't do that again for a million dollars.

On the way home from the groomer's the other night, we got into the car and I noticed the passenger seatbelt warning light flashing.  Apparently I don't have the smart car, which shows a picture of a dog instead of a person on the flashing light.  Can't it tell the difference between a forty pound cocker spaniel and a... much heavier person? The wife made the mistake of leaving her Dunkin Donuts coffee cup in the console.  In a matter of seconds Marshall had the lid off and was face-down in the cup. I shooed him away, noticed the light turn green and in that second, he was back in the coffee. I yanked him out of the coffee and drove down the block and yanked him out of the coffee again. At this point I put the lid back on. And he took it off.  And I put my hand on the top of the cup, at which point he started trying to nudge my hand out of the way.  Trying to keep both of my hands on the wheel was most difficult, as I had to keep pulling him out of the coffee.

And how is the car, you ask?  [get ready...]
The car is fine, thank you. The house is fine too, thank you.
Why is everything fine?  Sage.
When one gets a house or car, a friend provides sage for something called Smudging. This is where you light the stuff and take it to every room in the house. You also see this is the Ghost Chaser tv shows, where they use it to cleanse the house of certain entities (you can choose to believe any of this or not). So Wifey smudged the house and, on the advice of a friend, did the car too.  And why not? At this point, I'm about ready to call a gypsy to wrap up ten thousand dollars and burn it to ward off the Evil Car Spirits.  When she was done, she put the mostly burned sage into a cat food can in the car, as an ashtray.  Fortunately we haven't been stopped by the police because it looks like a giant blunt.



IT'S IN THE BAG

Did you ever stop to notice how difficult it is to put stuff in bags?  Think really hard about this one, folks. Just try opening a fresh new trash bag, if you can. This is a major effort in itself, moreso if you're already holding something in the other hand. You wind up shaking it like mad and if it inflates, it makes a horrible noise, causing the cat to Go Elsewhere in haste.  If you somehow manage to get the bag open, you will require a phalanx of assistants to get whatever you're trying to get into the bag whilst simultaneously making certain that it's not landing on the floor.  It's veritably impossible, I tell you. Even with one assistant, it's a peach. He or she holds the bag open. You attempt to put the first item in the second bag. And you fail.  The seemingly open bag has now folded back up, in spite of your assistant's valiant work.

Again, the assistant opens the bag.  This time you're trying to put a bag inside a bag, which makes the task exponentially difficult to a degree incomprehensible even to Albert Einstein, which makes things even more difficult as the has the temerity to be dead.  Even if you get half of the bag into the bag, the other half with not fit or will wind up on the floor, taking the second bag (and possibly the assistant) to the floor with it.

One day I thought I won the war.  After a time or six trying to get something into a no-longer-folded bag, I succeeded.  I was joyous and thankful.  And when I turned to wash some dishes, the bag fell down on one side, spreading a disgusting substance all over the floor.  It was almost as if it performed some sort of acrobatic leap or possibly a suicide jump. Much mopping up and lots of screaming later, I had everything in the bag, as it were.

Going back to washing the dishes, I put a washed knife into the silverware drying rack, causing it to take a giant leap (for fork-kind) back into the sink. I carefully inspected the knife, thinking that it might still be dirty but no, it was perfectly clean. This must be related to the box of coffee k-cups we have on the shelf. It keeps hurling itself to the floor. Last time I put it where gravity couldn't get it and I actually heard it go to ground.  One day a friend walked by the dining room table and a glass hurled itself off the table. I had hoped that sage would have cured the leaping bit but apparently it did not.

The Unemployment Files (#4)

Greetings, friends and neighbors, fellow bloggers, readers, and everyone here from the Wide World of Water Sports.  This is the next in the Unemployment series, otherwise known as Episode 4 (or Why Am I Still Typing This Shit?).

As you know by now, I remain without work, unless you count the constant drone of the wife, barking out orders for me to do menial tasks like carrying stuff, cleaning stuff and mowing. I'm a knowledge worker - this kinda stuff is beneath me.

SEARCHING

You have been privy to all of the interesting search results I've gotten as well as all of the lovely recruiters who have called and emailed.  This installment's Best Of would have to include the offers for work in Houston, New York, four counties over, and of course, the three month consulting arrangement in Arkansas.  Come to Arkansas, work three months is their new state slogan.

A friend suggested a new game: collect all the coins for the states for which we're invited to work. The one with the most coins wins.  No, I don't know what.

In my own searches online, I have come across a few winners also. Business to Business insurance sales, wound nurse and my absolute favorite: lactation consultant.  I have to tell you that the last one had me considering a career change.  I'm somewhat of a subject matter expert in that general area anyway, going pro wouldn't be that difficult.  I can already properly size a bra and check for lumps, so I know wherefrom I speak.  Ok, I am a bit lacking in lactation - it's simply a fetish better left for others.

THE HIRSUTE CANINE CHILD

The dog has been enjoying the hell out of having me home full time, according to my wife.  As I type this, he's sitting next to me, putting his nose under my arm and insisting on all attention being provided to him and him alone.  Unfortunately all the attention has spawned more of a little monster... when we go somewhere, he becomes Spaniel Detective and hunts down anything edible, no matter where it is.  He used to be such a good dog when we left.  Last week he got half a bag of my Reese's Pieces (the bastard).  This was doubly evil, as my wife was supposed to get me Peanut Butter M&Ms, not Reese's Pieces.

He's defintely acting out.  Yesterday he ate half a loaf of wheat bread... the kind with all that sawdust on the top.  Wheat bread.  No matter how bad chocolate is for dogs, he will consume whatever he can reach.  Fortunately it doesn't bother him (it bothers me though).  My wife, who is sometimes forgetful (like it's sometimes humid in PA), left a whole bag of trail mix on the floor.  Strangely, the dog has left it there.  Yes, we've finally found the single substance that the dog won't touch. Remember - this is the guy who has eaten raw brussels sprouts.  Just not trail mix, please, Dad.

Meanwhile, the cat is also enjoying more attention.  The fastest way to get one of them to come is to call the other one.  Sibling rivalry at its finest.

Speaking of the cat, he has developed a new talent.  If you remember, the dog has trained the (good) neighbor to come out and feed him upon his command (bark).  The cat, no slouch himself, saw what was going on and figured he needed to get in on the action. So he, the cat who makes no noise at all, now sits on the fence and goes meow...Meow... MEOW and the neighbor comes out and feeds him too. We have unleashed two beggars upon the neighbor.


THANKS FOR THE HELP

The neighbor with the good intentions, who last time asked if the house was going up for sheriff's sale had another piece of wisdom the other day.  He saw my wife smoking on the front step and lectured that she must stop smoking; it's costing us too much money.  Of course the guy is one hundred percent correct; he's just lucky he didn't get a Subaru through his thorax.  The wife is a little jumpy where ciggies are concerned.

Armed with this great information, my wife decided to save us some money on cigarettes.  Whenever I hear 'save us money', I start to shake.  This usually means that she has purchased two of something 'because it was on sale' or 'because it was cheaper'.  When she gets home, she tells me how much money she has saved us.  I volunteer to save us even more money.... Guitar Center is having a sale and I can get two guitars for just a bit more than one.  Think of the hundreds I can save us!  Oddly enough, it is at that exact point that her math fails her (as well as her sense of humor).

Where was I?  Oh yeah, cigarettes.  She saved us loads of money by buying.... are you ready?  can you guess?  wait for it...  Roll Your Own cigarette parts.  We now have a tray table dedicated entirely to assembling cigarettes. Or rather, a tray table dedicated entirely to holding all the paraphernalia required to assmeble cigarettes.  I figure this is a practice best done when she has enough ciggies already. The moment she's out, she'll run shaking to the tray table, try putting together a single cancer stick, fail miserably, and run screaming to the store to buy a carton of regular old cigarettes (for $77 plus taxes).  In fact, it turns out that the tobacco companies are the ones that started the Roll Your Own movement.

INTERVIEWS - WE GOT INTERVIEWS

Hey, I haven't spent the entire week sitting on my ass.  I've spent the entire week looking for jobs, while sitting on my ass, thank you very much.  I have to admit I've had a decent amout of 'hits' on my resume lately, some from actual caucasians (who aren't Indian and trying to pound me into any job they can fit me into).

The prospective employers are getting smart about things, as I mentioned, and doing phone interviews (screenings) to weed out the bad prospects before calling them in physically (if not mentally).  I have had a bunch of phoners, as I call them.  Each one teaches me something, namely that I hate interviewing and that I can learn from my mistakes. And I make rather a lot of them.  And I insist upon making each one of them repeatedly.  Getting feedback helps to learn what to do next time.

So I've learned a lot, largely by failing.  Some call it Trial and Error.  I call it Error and Error.

This week I got a call from a recruiter for a job that turned out to be pretty damn local.  If there's anything I like (besides not having to mow the lawn), it's a very short commute to work. So I sat on the phone with the recruiter, very patiently, and answered questions. Very early in the process it became apparent that the technical recruiter had absolutely no concept of technical matters.  It would only make sense, you know.  I was charming and helped with technical acronyms.  Having gotten through that, I was informed that there was another phoner with their actual technical person.

A few days later, their actual technical person called, only he wasn't entirely technical either; he just knew all of the terms and acronyms. I suspect I was less charming this time but I passed muster. I know this because I was then invited to meet him in person.  In a small county, one state over. Tomorrow, if I didn't mind. For anybody keeping score, this was two phoners and an in-person, just to get past the recruiter.  The visit was pleasant, he asked great questions, we all talked about pets, kids and the coffee situation brewing (get it?) in South America, causing prices to rise exponentially.  I must have been in good form because I passed muster again.

How did I know I passed muster again? The recruiter was going to pass my resume along to his client. IF the client likes my resume, there will be... hang on..... guess what?  a PHONER!  If he likes the phoner, an in-person will be scheduled.  For anybody still keeping score, I will have gone through three phoners and two in-persons before I know if I got the job or not.  And this is for a consultant slot.  This has city government or extreme corporate obfuscation written all over it. I hope they don't take measurements when I show up. I typically disappoint.

Then there was the other phoner/screener for a large retailer.  It was being gang-interviewed, possibly by monkeys, judging from the zoo-like background noise.  It felt like home because I used to work in a zoo.  Well, not a traditional zoo, but they were really loud and sometimes smelled like animals. The secretary's husband likened calling there to a soccer riot.

And there we are - this week's installment.  Although it would break my heart, I am perfectly willing to discontinue this series and get back to the (ab)normal stuff.

Happy Belated Birthday

to Graham Chapman, of Monty Python fame, who would have been seventy-two yesterday.


Urinus Interruptus

So I'm minding my own business, in the bathroom, when the door opens.  Of course the door opens - it's the cat, mortified by my human desire to eliminate alone and with the door closed.  I suspect this need of ours for solitude somehow offends felines, who are smart enough to figure out bi-fold doors.  We thought we had outsmarted him (and the dog) by installing the door backwards but this took only a day to figure out.  For both of them.


The Car is Back!

After only three weeks and a day, our beloved car is back from the collision shop, fully repaired.  For those of you keeping score, it's deer zero, us one, insurance four thousand, rental car seven hundred.  It's most fortunate that I'm independently wealthy.

The wife is beyond joyous; she loves her car.  I'm happy to not be paying for a rental, even if the seats were nicer.

Let me say something nice here about State Farm: they've been great and fast.  No crap, no fuss, it's done.  All insurance should work this way (take notice, health insurance).


A Word from the AntiSports

I don't usually bother but I came across this little factlet on the radio the other day: hockey is about to start again, after the lockout.  Philly is the city with the least amount of ticket refund requests, at two-hundred.

Seriously, Philly, you are a huge, dirty city of enablers.  You put up with crappy team performance and greedy millionaires.  What do you do?  You line up to pay them some more.  You deserve what you get.  You pay an egregious amount to simply park at football games, not to mention the now standard TSA-style groping.



In closing, I urge caution on the forced national panic about guns.  There is obviously an agenda here.

Complaints from Pets and General Grumbling

Hello, I am General Grumbling.
[salute]

In no particular order, here are some things:

In addition to the visit from the county sheriff's office, we heard from the SPCA.  The dog and cat are apparently quite upset and have filed a complaint (why not, everyone else has):

• they are upset because their air conditioner is never set below seventy degrees and they can't operate the remote
• the cat is upset because the dog has his own pool
• there is not enough room on the couch for both to lay in the path of their fan

So you're probably saying to yourself, "It must be horrible in that house."

You're right.

In other news, I got a new corporate manual at work to sign.  We have policies on racism, false medical billing, drugs, and a section on bodily fluids but we don't have two words on acceptable computer use.

The Big Boss saw our last desktop policy and ordered it removed because he didn't like it.  No amount of meetings, pleadings or communications has produced results: we have no computer policy.

But at least we have a bodily fluids policy.

TODAY'S BEST HEADLINE:

Weiner Pulls Out

The President Bit my Cat

I awoke with a familiar lump on the pillow next to me.  Unfortunately it was the incorrect end of the dog. I suppose I should expect that from an animal that can sleep uphill.

My wife and I are going to do one of those scholarly papers on insomnia and how you can get it from your spouse.  She gave up sleep for lent about forty years ago and has never looked back.  I caught some bizarre form of insomnia that makes me tired at 10pm then wakes me up around 3:30am.  This has been going on for a week and no one knows why.

Speaking of insomnia, my wife got a sausage and pepper sandwich that she raved about and brought home half.  When she went to finish it, the sausage was missing.  Why?  Because the cat ate it.  Of course the cat ate it - what did you expect?   This is the same cat who won't leap up on the counter to get his own food but has no trouble eating mine.  He has progressed to showing affection in a vain attempt to get me to feed him.  When I come home from work, the dog is incredibly happy to see me.  The cat now apes the dog, in hopes I will get up and feed him.  He doesn't really care for me more than he did last week.

We recently realized that our entire house runs on the Cat Food Principle.  I am permitted to work because I can afford cat food.  My wife is permitted to leave the house because she brings home the cat food.  The cat get his bowl filled, eats most of it, then the dog hoovers up the rest, spending minutes licking out every last morsel of his favorite substance.  He will stand at the kitchen door, waiting for it to open and let him at the precious cat food.

New Jersey

I freely admit I was born in New Jersey.  We migrated closer to civilization when I was a few months old, or so I'm told.  I retain nothing of the silly accent, poor driving habits, or driving in circles.  Oddly enough, I found two items of Jersey interest in the news today.  See if you get the theme.....

A Lakewood, NJ girl died after falling into a septic tank.

It would seem that Trenton is out of toilet paper.

I'm not making this stuff up - just reporting it.

Other News

Here's a guy who liked the smell of meth and napalm in the morning.

Iowa senator Chuck Grassley is mad as hell at the History Channel.  Why?  Because they don't show enough history.  Who says your tax dollars are wasted?

A Los Angeles little league team will play this season, thanks to the generous donation of $1200 from the Jet Strip Gentleman's Club.   Go team!

Rick Santorum told a man attending his event that if he wanted limited government, he should vote for Ron Paul [video at link].   There you go - even a broken clock is right twice a day.

President Giveaway promised that Obamacare would cost $900 billion over ten years.  The Congressional Budget Office states $1.76 trillion over ten years.  It's not that he lied - he just repeatedly misstated the truth.  Hey, let's get the government involved in healthcare.  Nothing could possibly go wrong.  Right?  [Medicare.  Social Security.  Medicaid.   The Banks.   Government Motors.]

The Continuing Saga of Tuna in the Home

Tuna has taken on important aspects in the leftystrat household; affecting both the bipeds and the quadrupeds.

One of the tasty ways to cut down on red meat is with fish.  We're all getting into tuna in both forms: canned and filets.  Filets are great because you can spice the hell out of them and cook them in a non-stick pan with no added fat.  And yes, it tastes great.

The serious furor in the household, however, surrounds tuna of the canned variety.  This is used for all sorts of things, like tuna salad (no, really?).  Another main use is to put it on salad to make it more interesting.  And let's face it - there's little one can do to make salad less interesting.

And when I say salad, I mean salad as [insert deity] intended it: mainly iceburg lettuce that comes from a bag.   By all means, add in some high-calorie, high-fat dressing while you're at it.  My wife prefers this horrible-tasting, very pretty salad (arrest that woman for attempted salad!), which I refer to as looking like someone mugged a flower garden.

So thus far we have learned that both salad and tuna come from the same place: the grocery store.

But wait - there's more!   For reasons I probably prefer not to remember, we drain the water from the tuna and put it in the cat's bowl with some dry food.  He eats it in less time than it took to pour into the bowl.

The dog, however, is loath to miss out on anything his sibling gets.  He still wishes he was an only child.  As soon as he discovered tuna water, he went insane.  Yes, some would say the disorder preceeded the water but let's not quibble, ok?  Marshall's favorite thing in the world is cat food.  In fact, he was given an American Indian name when he was little (Smells Like Cat Food).  The theory here is that tuna smells like cat food, so that's why he's ok with it.  Now we pour it over his food too.

This is all well and good but you have no idea what it's like around the old homestead involving the simple but important device known to all as the can opener.  Animals don't do too well with the abstract so they have no idea that when they hear the can opener, it could be opening something that is not tuna.  As soon as the familiar noise starts, both of them fly into the kitchen, in record time, to stand around the magic can opener, as someone is obviously opening some tuna for them.

The cat is quietly annoying, rubbing against me, trying to trip me, and ramming his nineteen pounds repeatedly into my leg, as if I'm going to forget him or something.  The dog it attempting to sit quietly and failing miserably.  He's so excited that his little stub of a tail is vibrating and he appears to actually be sitting above the floor, having levitated himself an inch or so.  He also makes little excited noises, which is greatly preferrable to ramming his forty pounds into my leg.

At this point there is simply no way to explain to the non-human speakers that this might not be tuna.  Or cat food.  Or even that rad cranberry sauce with the lines around it.  So they get tuna water.  Sometimes I have to open two cans.  Happier pets you have never seen.

Last night it was salad, naturally with tuna.  They did their little dance, got some tuna water and remained completely attentive for about an hour after.  Perhaps they were working on perfecting Tuna Telekinesis, whereby the tuna on my salad lifted itself up and flew into their mouths.  You simply never know with non-human speakers.

Half a can of tuna remained.  Looking at it in retrospect, this was my big mistake (there's that foreshadowing thingy again!).

Tonight I decided to make use of the remaining tuna.  Naturally it was nowhere to be found.  This is because of the unique combination of my innate inability to locate anything and my wife's innate ability to never put things in the same place twice.  So I broke down and asked if she had seen the errant tuna.

I knew I wasn't going to like the answer when she told me, "You're not going to like the answer."

It turns out that even before anyone had a chance to stow the spare tuna, the somewhat furrier of the house's occupants decided they had better uses for it.  I am led to believe that it took the form of what can only be referred to as Tuna Hockey.

The cat was up on the counter, nose-deep in tuna.  When my wife yelled and reached, he passed to the floor and the dog, who quickly and efficiently nosed the tuna tin across the floor while simultaneously emptying it of what he must see as Cat Food of the Gods.  By the time my wife caught him, the can was totally devoid of tuna.  Over in the corner sat two happy pets, busily licking their lips and paws.

Ha ha.

Screw me - I had to open more tuna for my dinner.  Which pretty much set the whole game into play a second time.



NEWS FROM THE TWILIGHT ZONE

The place in which I toil tends to make bad decisions.  In fact, if they could get paid for bad decisions, they'd be the most successful non-profit in history.

One of our extremely bad decisions was around copier/printers.  The hardware to which I refer shall not be mentioned by name (but rhymes with Dannon).  Combine slimy salesmen, clueless techs, and bad hardware and there we were.

Being one of the people who had to work with both the salesmen and my own people, I was in a good position to see how the machines worked out.  And by worked out, I mean didn't work.

I made my frustrations known up the line, figuring the people who make the decisions might benefit from some input.  By that time it didn't come as a surprise when I discovered we had signed a six year contract for these bloody machines.

We suffered through the entire contract.  Email went around every day about which units not to use because they were broken.  The copier technicians must feel the same way Windows technicians feel (they always have a job).

I know I shouldn't have been surprised last week when a whole slate of new machines showed up without notice.  It definitely didn't surprise anyone when the delivery folks didn't have the printer drivers and didn't know how to operate the machinery.

And no one said a thing when it was discovered we signed a new six-year contract.

My Dog is Smarter than Your Honor Student

Other folks at work brag about their kids.  I bring in pictures of Marshall the cocker.  He has his own fan club.  I can't get work to put him on my health plan, though...

Marshall is the third rescue cocker.  He's also the smartest by far.  Between three dogs and two cats, every one has managed to figure out how to open bi-fold doors.  Amusing as this may be, the bathroom has a bi-fold door.  The dog opens it to be with his mommy.  The cat seems to have something against doors being closed so he'll open it while you're in the bathroom, then walk out.

We also have louvered doors going into the kitchen.  The cats have made short work of them.   The dogs, not so much.  Marshall can open them if they're already open a bit.

Every now and then, the cat will jump on the table and knock something yummy off for the dog.  We have no explanation for that.  They can both knock each other out of their food bowls, which is odd.

Marshall, as I've mentioned, loves cat food in an unnatural way.  We feed the cat and close the door so Marshall can't get in.  As soon as the cat is done, he opens the door and Marshall rushes in to lick out the bowl.  Sometimes the cat eats dog food too (neither is good for the other, btw).  We call this Cat Food Ballet.  When he's done, Marshall makes a stop at his bowl, as if to say he was there the whole time.  It's hysterical to watch.

I came home from practice today and my wife couldn't wait to let me know what my special child did while I was gone.  When we feed the cat, we take a spoonful of food and put it in his bowl, then put the cat food can back on the counter.  The cat will spend all day bothering us to feed him but doesn't have any issues with leaping up and eating our food.

Marshall figured out there was cat food on the counter and set about getting it.  My wife heard noise in the kitchen, which is never a good thing.  Marshall was leaping up and knocking the cat food cat off the counter with a paw.

I'd say I'm proud of him but this is getting tiresome.

Marshall also has a fondness for trash, like most dogs.  His main hobby is shredding the tissues he pulls out of the trash.  Sometimes he makes tissues appear from nowhere (usually after I'm done vacuuming).  To combat this, we purchased a can that has a lid that snaps down.  Virtually dog-proof, right?

Not so much.

Marshall figured out that if he leaps up and hits the can the right way with a paw, the Magic Trash Lid opens up, allowing full access to the trash he loves so much.

If we could just get them to do some cleaning or taking out the trash, they'd be worth their weight in gold.  Tonight, tired from practice, I asked Marshall if he'd make me some dinner - nothing fancy, just something small.  He just sat there on my lap, pretending not to understand me.

It's hard to get mad at a creature with such magnificent brown eyes.  It drives my wife crazy when he sits on my lap and stares up at me.

I have to go now.  I think Marshall is on the computer in the next room.  No telling what he's up to now....